The days after Theron's return unfolded like a tide that had finally learned how to rest.He had come back — not as a miracle, not as penance — simply back.And that was enough to make Callista forget, for a while, that she had once prayed to gods who never answered.
They fell into rhythm again — two souls sharing silence.
Each dawn, Callista woke to the sound of waves combing the shore. She would find Theron already awake, sitting on the worn steps that led down to the sand, his hair catching the morning light like dark silk.
He always looked toward the horizon — not searching, not longing, just listening.
When she asked once what he listened for, he only said, "The sea has moods. You can hear them if you're quiet enough."
She laughed softly. "And what is it saying today?"
He turned toward her then, that calm smile lighting his gray eyes. "It's saying it's glad you're awake."
She rolled her eyes, but warmth bloomed in her chest.
They fell into the kind of rhythm only people meant to find each other could.She swept the temple floors and scrubbed the salt from the stone pillars while he gathered driftwood and shells from the tide.When her hands blistered, he wrapped them gently in seaweed soaked in fresh water, murmuring that it would draw the sting away.
When he cut his palm on the edge of a broken urn, she took his hand without thinking, pressing her thumb over the wound. His blood shimmered faintly, silver against her skin, before turning red like any mortal's. She blinked — and it was gone.
He only smiled at her startled expression. "Maybe the gods blessed me with stubborn blood."
Sometimes they would walk barefoot along the shore.The sand was soft beneath their feet, the air heavy with salt. She talked then — perhaps too much — about the things she hadn't spoken of in years.
"My father used to say the sea could not be trusted," she said once. "He prayed every morning before sunrise. Not for wealth, not for victory — just for peace. He feared it might take me, too."
Theron listened, head tilted slightly, eyes unreadable. "He sounds like a man who loved you."
"He did." Her voice softened. "And yet, he gave me to this temple when the floods returned. He believed the god of the sea demanded it."
A pause. "Do you hate him for it?"
She shook her head. "No. He thought it was mercy."
He looked toward the waves, where the tide was rising — slowly, almost reverently — and his jaw tightened. "Mercy takes strange shapes," he murmured.
She didn't understand the weight in his voice, the grief buried beneath it.
At midday, they would sit beneath the cracked columns of the temple, sharing the simplest meals — roasted fish, seaweed broth, dried figs.Once, when she burned her fingers on a hot stone, he caught her wrist and blew softly over the skin. The sting faded almost instantly.
She stared at him, frowning. "How did you—"
"Practice," he interrupted quickly, smiling. "I've always been good at mending things I break."
She wanted to question it, but his eyes — that deep, unending gray — made her forget her words.
Nights were their quietest hours.They would lie side by side on the sands before the temple, the stars spilling across the sky like crushed diamonds.Callista would point out constellations she remembered from her childhood — the Hunter, the Weeping Queen, the Sea's Crown — and Theron would tell her the names the sailors gave them.
"Do you believe the stars have souls?" she asked once, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I think they have memories," he said, turning to her. "Like the sea. Like you."
She smiled faintly. "You speak as if everything is alive."
He hesitated. "Perhaps everything is. We just forget how to listen."
When storms rolled beyond the horizon, the temple would tremble with distant thunder.On those nights, Callista lit the old brazier, and they sat close by its faint blue flame.
She told him about her mother's laughter, her brother's coronation, the day the sea first rose to swallow the harbor. She told him about the screams, the temple bells, the water that didn't drown but took — as if claiming what it was owed.
And Theron listened, his expression unreadable. Sometimes, when she spoke of the flood, his hand would tighten around the edge of his seat, knuckles pale.
When she faltered, he reached for her hand. "The sea took much from you," he said quietly. "But it didn't take your strength."
She swallowed. "Strength feels useless when you're alone."
"You aren't," he said, his thumb brushing the back of her hand. "Not anymore."
She should have pulled away. She didn't.
Sometimes she woke in the middle of the night to find him standing at the water's edge, his silhouette dark against the moonlight. The waves never touched him — they curled around his feet like obedient hounds, as though they knew their master.
Once, she whispered his name, and he turned. The moonlight caught his eyes — they were no longer gray but pale silver, bright as tide-foam.
"Theron?" she breathed.
He blinked once, and the light was gone. "You shouldn't be out here," he said softly. "The wind's sharp tonight."
He led her back inside, his touch gentle, almost guilty.
Days turned into weeks, though she stopped counting.They laughed more easily now. She taught him the temple hymns, and he, in turn, hummed old sea melodies — songs that sounded too ancient to have been written by men.
He smiled more often, but sometimes she caught him staring at her like she was something both wondrous and painful.
"Why do you look at me that way?" she asked one evening.
He shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Because some things are too beautiful for gods to deserve."
She laughed softly. "Then it's a good thing you're not one."
He looked away, and the waves beyond the shore rippled faintly — almost as if the sea itself exhaled.
As the days grew long, she began to notice strange things.The tides rose when he grew angry, fell when he smiled. The sea birds gathered when he laughed, and when he touched the temple walls, the salt stains faded for a moment before returning.
She told herself it was coincidence.But sometimes, she wondered — who exactly had she prayed for that night?And who had answered?
Late one night, as the wind whispered through the columns, Callista lay awake beside the brazier, watching Theron sleep. His hair fell over his brow, his face softened, almost humanly fragile.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the silver band at his wrist — it was warm, pulsing faintly like a living thing.
Her breath caught.
She pulled her hand back and stared into the fire, heart pounding.
She didn't know what frightened her more — the strangeness that surrounded him, or the realization that she could no longer imagine her days without him.
"Is it wrong?" she whispered to the silence. "To want someone, when I am meant to dedicate my heart and soul to the gods and to serve them for eternity?"
Her words vanished into the sound of the sea.And from beyond the cliffs, a wave rose and broke softly — like a sigh.
She closed her eyes, trembling, unsure whether it was an answer or a warning.
Outside, the tide crept higher, closer to the temple steps, and the sea whispered her name as though promising:
You are not wrong to want him. But it will cost you everything.